


It's Not Even Intermission

by withpractice_ff



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, PWKM, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withpractice_ff/pseuds/withpractice_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phoenix cares not for propriety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Even Intermission

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt:
> 
>  _this lacks phoenix/apollo!_
> 
>  _phoenix jerking apollo off and talking dirty, alright!_

They're at the Wonder Bar, watching Trucy's Friday night performance. Apollo's seen her act a hundred times now, Phoenix even more than that. But though their eyes are on the stage, neither of them are paying attention.

It has been three days and four hours since the two last saw each other. They'd had about fifteen minutes before Apollo had to leave for court, and Phoenix had him pressed into the couch at the Agency, grabbing at the cushions and digging his teeth into Phoenix's shoulder.

It's been like that, lately.

Apollo knows better than to spend too much thought on it; it's impossible to guess what Phoenix is thinking, planning. But at some point all those causal touches--a friendly pat on his shoulder, a guiding hand at the small of his back--gained heat, intensity; turned into something _more_.

Phoenix's fingers are trailing idly up his thigh, leaving Apollo's skin hot behind them. He reaches beneath the table and moves Phoenix's hand back into his lap; this isn't the time, the place.

It never is, really.

Phoenix laughs to himself, and Apollo feels his cheeks heat. He steels himself for a further advance from the older man, ready to rebuff him again, but it doesn't come, Phoenix leaning casually back in his chair as if he hadn't just been skipping curious fingers up another man's thigh.

The crowd cheers, enchanted by the young woman on the stage. Apollo claps along with them, peripherally aware that Trucy just brought out her Magic Panties. God, he hates those panties.

"God, I hate those panties," he mutters.

Phoenix laughs. "But Polly, they're _magic_."

Apollo sighs, takes a deep swig of his beer. It was strange, the first time Phoenix offered to buy him a drink, like he was granting him permission to act like an adult.

They hadn't went home together that night--hadn't even begun going home together at that point. He wonders now, looking back, if Phoenix had already had plans. If he'd already thought about Apollo, prone and desperate on his bed, fists tangled in the sheets as Phoenix slammed into him...

With some irritation, he realizes he's getting hard just thinking about it. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Phoenix looks over at him from the corner of his eye, grinning. As though somehow he knows. With further irritation, Apollo realizes he wouldn't be terribly surprised if Phoenix _did_ know.

He stands, making for the bathroom, and neither is he surprised when he hears the drag of Phoenix's chair against the hardwood behind him. Over his shoulder he hisses, "What do you think you're doing?"

"What? I'm just going to the bathroom."

It's like dealing with a child, sometimes. And he knows he should just sit right back down, that there's no way Phoenix is _just going to the bathroom_ , not after those fingers climbing up his inseam. But he carries forward instead, and he will never, ever admit the thrill in his stomach, the tantalizing anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The moment they're in the bathroom, Phoenix locks the door behind them. Apollo has the sense to check for feet under the stalls before allowing Phoenix to advance on him.

One of the perks--if you can call it that, and Apollo has to engage in some serious consideration as Phoenix crowds him against the sink--of being related to the talent is that if someone complains about the locked door, no one on staff is going to interrupt whatever it is going on in there. He wonders if they can guess.

Oh god, what if they can guess?

He groans, thinking of Cindy, the waitress, whispering into Chef Ronald's ear, the two of them casting sly eyes at the men's room and laughing. Phoenix mistakes it for a sound of pleasure, grinning against Apollo's skin, his lips ghosting over Apollo's neck.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he manages weakly, his voice pitching when Phoenix works a knee between his legs.

"Shouldn't be doing what?" Phoenix's breath is hot on his ear, his tongue tracing the shell.

"You know what!" he snaps, gesturing vaguely between them.

Phoenix hums, amused, and says, "Actually, I don't. Looks you're going to have to tell me. Explicitly."

He huffs, defeated, sagging against the sink at his waist. Phoenix nips at his lobe, trying to provoke further response. When that doesn't work, he snakes a hand between their bodies, palming Apollo through the front of his slacks. The shorter man hisses through his teeth, and Phoenix asks, "Is this what you don't want me to do? Because I've got to say, you _feel_ like you want me to touch you."

Apollo presses his lips together, willing himself not to react. He wraps his fingers tight around the porcelain as Phoenix continues, "You feel ready. I bet you wouldn't last very long with my lips around you."

Apollo's eyes go wide, darting to the door. Phoenix laughs, quiet, a hot breath against his neck. "What, you wouldn't like that? You wouldn't like me on my knees, taking you in as deep as I could?"

He can't help it, he jerks into Phoenix's hand, his hips moving of their own volition.

"I love sucking you off," Phoenix continues, "The weight of you on my tongue--that blush that runs up your chest and into your cheeks right before you come. I like watching you."

"Phoenix," he gasps, the word still foreign on his lips, even after everything that's happened--after everything he's _done_ to Phoenix with those lips. He presses a hand half-heartedly against the other man's chest. "We can't do this."

"Polly," Phoenix says, laughing. "We already _are_."

And then he slides his hand down the front of Apollo's pants, the younger man gasping at the skin on skin contact, dropping his head against Phoenix's chest. Above him, moving his hand along Apollo's shaft in precise, deep strokes, Phoenix keeps talking, "I like watching you writhe beneath me when I press into you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to catch your breath. I like when you grab for purchase at my back, skating your nails over my skin. I like feeling your breath in my ear, feeling you tremble beneath my fingers."

He twists his wrist roughly, and Apollo lets out a surprised moan, flushing bright red in embarrassment as he darts nervous eyes toward the door.

"I like fucking you, too," Phoenix continues. "I like it when you're on your hands and knees beneath me, like watching the flex and bend of your back. I like digging my fingers into your hips. And god, when you slam back against me? So fucking hot, Polly. You are criminally hot."

He slides his palm over the tip and Apollo's hips jut forward, the touch almost painful, too sensitive from his arousal.

"You gotta stop," Apollo says breathlessly.

"Stop?" Phoenix asks, amused. "Why would I do that?"

"If you don't stop, I'm going to--"

"Going to what? Come? Isn't that kind of the point?"

Apollo grimaces, even as he thrusts helplessly into Phoenix's hand. "It's going to be such a mess."

"A bright boy like yourself, I'd think you'd realize by now," Phoenix tsks.

"Realize what?" His words are airy, thin, distracted as he gets closer to the edge.

"That I plan for everything."

And with that he drops to his knees, freeing Apollo from his boxers and tracing his tongue around the head of his erection. Apollo bucks into him, hard, pushing between Phoenix's lips and brushing the back of his throat. Phoenix doesn't flinch, putting a hand on Apollo's hip to steady him as he works over his shaft.

It doesn't last long, Apollo biting into the flesh of his hand to keep himself quiet as his orgasm rocks through him.

When he's spent, Phoenix looks up at him, grinning and self-satisfied. He makes a show of wiping at the corners of his mouth, licking the traces of semen off of his thumb.

"You look indecent," Apollo says without any bite. Phoenix wriggles his eyebrows, pleased, and then moves to wash his hands at the neighboring sink, his own arousal clearly visible through his sweatpants.

"Should I, uh--?" Apollo starts, looking nervously toward the door.

Phoenix claps a hand to his shoulder, a friendly gesture that feels somehow foreboding. "Come on, Polly, I'm not _that_ evil."

Apollo's smile is half-hearted, not quite convinced. He zips himself up, watching Phoenix warily. He's surprised when the other man moves for the door.

"But you know," Phoenix says as they make their way back to their table, "I would say you owe me one."

Apollo can't tell if the sudden tingle in his stomach is anticipation or dread.


End file.
